Lamblike roads
trim to the circuitry of trees
pacing the spring's cut
and arrangements of fallen rock
boughs to guard bicycle paths
and chain link arches
thorns in a foot-thick jacket
teeth wrenched by the stems of leaves
and wiping veins against the soft star;
through machete clouds
the recumbent ink
blinks to despoil the ripe curb
of the stopsign landscape.

Of the halt hands by hot hands grasped
ferreting over a flood of green bulbs,
bellowing under bridges
to dynamite a microphone cord
through the center of the earth
dry funk of the crunch bark falling open
the backs of beetles' dust,
crawling rings in a strip of glade.